Dreaming
by tamaraface
Summary: I'm an angsting, pining, lovesick, emotional masochist. But that works for me. Mild slash, will get slashier... Don't like it, not much I can do. R&R if you love me!
1. Chapter 1

Dreaming

It's kind of funny. In a humorless way. You have no idea. You think we're just friends. You're so smart and yet you can't see what's so goddamned obvious. I would never tell you though. I can't. Even though I want more than anything for you to know. Well, almost more than anything. I can't tell you or anyone, because my friends are your friends. I can't write your name and little hearts all over my notebook because we have all the same classes. I can't even write it in my journal because I sometimes let you read it. After everything we've been through, and all that you know, you're still utterly clueless.

Part of me wants it that way. Part of me understands that if you knew, we'd never be the same. We'd never be this close. You're all I have and all I need, and I'll take whatever you can give me. You're an angel fallen from the stars. I'm pretty, but you're beautiful. Pure as the driven snow, despite what others may think. I'm thankful for every dimpled smile, every laugh you send my way. You don't know that that's all you need to do to make me feel better. All you need to do is look at me and my world is okay.

You don't notice how jealous I am when you talk about him. You don't notice how hard I try to ignore you when you go on and on about your boyfriends. You don't know how my heart actually skips a beat when you hug me. Or how it breaks when you hug him. You don't see how much I hurt when I see you crying. And you don't see the tears in my eyes when you tell me you love me and all I can think is, not enough.

It worries me sometimes, how completely devoted to you I am. If you asked me to go to the moon I'd ask what time to meet you there. If you told me the sun would rise in the west tomorrow or that the grass is red on Sundays, I'd believe you because you said it. I'd move heaven and earth to keep you from harm. I may be smart, I may be cool in that broody sort of way, I may be many things but I am nothing without you. Because you are beautiful and kind and genuine and innocent, even if it's buried deep down, and I will use all my intelligence, all my ability, all my strength, and both my fists to make sure you always stay that way. I'd risk my life for yours without a second thought. I'd die for you.

I just want you to be happy. Even if it's not with me. My happiness is second to yours. My anything is second to yours. I know that all this pining isn't healthy. I suppose eventually I'll have to give up on this and move on. I am painfully aware that you can never love me the way I love you. But a girl can dream. I can still pretend that you save those smiles just for me. I can act like the lingering hugs and innocent hand-holding means more than it does. I can think that you stopped finding excuses to touch me because you just wanted to touch me. I can let myself believe there's actually something there and I'm not just some emotional masochist. But these are just dreams, meager hopes. Idle fantasies of a little girl who doesn't know who she is without you. I'm just lost and lonely and hopelessly infatuated. But I'm okay with that. It works for me. So long as I can keep dreaming.


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: This chapter is spoilerish...

A/N: Ok, I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but it _will_ be Brooke/Peyton eventually, I promise. I just have to set the scene, relay a sort of ambiance, if you will. I don't know how much more I'm going to follow the plot of the show, cuz I like borrowed dialogue and whatnot, but I have to break away obviously, when the girls hook up. That should happen within the next couple chapters. If you read, please review! It helps me update faster.

* * *

My eyes flutter open as I feel movement beside me. I didn't hear you come in. You try and slide under the covers with me, you're really warm. There's a swat to my thigh as you whisper for me to make room. I roll over on my side where I can't see your face. A small price to pay to have your body so close to mine. You sigh and press your forehead to the back of my shoulder.

"What's wrong?" I contemplate turning to you, but decide against it because I know I'll be so busy watching your lips move I won't hear a thing you say.

"I'm tired, Peyton."

"Go to sleep then." That sounds reasonable. It is 3:00 in the morning, after all.

"No, I'm _tired._" I try to hear the difference. "I'm just tired of everything, you know? Like it all just seems long and hard and pointlessly exhausting."

This time I do turn over. We're much closer than neccesary. I mean, it's a big bed, there's no reason for your face to be inches from mine. I can feel your breath on my cheek and I'm trying not to think about what that's doing to me, I'm trying to smell alcohol on it.

"Brooke, have you been drinking?"

You roll your eyes, those big hazel eyes. "I'm serious, Peyton."

"So am I."

"No, I haven't been drinking." You shift a little and I think your going to turn your back to me and I have to fight the urge to pull you back. But lucky me, you just reposition yourself so you're on your back, looking at the ceiling, and I can stare without worrying that you'll catch me.

"I just think that..." Your hand finds mine under the sheets and you start playing with my fingers. I don't even think you realize you're doing it. "I feel like--I don't know."

"You miss him." And the words are out of my mouth before I think them, and I know it was the wrong thing to say because your hand leaves mine and returns to your side.

"No, I don't."

"Yeah, you do."

"No. I don't." You're vehement about it, so I wait for you to elaborate. "Maybe I miss the idea of him.Of an us, you know? Like, I don't want Lucas, and I don't want just anyone, I want--I want..."

"Love? Again," I finish for you. You mull that over for a second before responding in the affirmative with a nod.

You turn back and meet my eyes. "You think we'll ever find that again?" My stomach does a little flip at your choice of words, but I know that you meant we separately, not we together. I manage a nod and swallow around the lump in my throat and answer that I really hope we do. And I really hope _we_ do.

You have to sleep on your stomach and I have to not watch you sleep. You mumur a "Good night" before closing your eyes. I think I spoke back but I'm not posistive. After a while, a long while, I'm able to tear my eyes away. I close my own but it's like you're tattooed on the inside of my eyelids. I can still see the line of your jaw, and how it fades into your ear. I can see the curve of your hip where I'm sure my hand would fit perfectly. I can see your hair, shining faintly, reddish-brown and softer than spider silk. I can see your teeth, almost glimmering, where your mouth fell open a little. Your lips are red and I wonder briefly if they would taste like strawberries. I lie still and wait for sleep, reminding myself over and over how to breathe.

When I wake up a couple hours later, I don't move. I don't dare blink. Your arm is draped around my stomach and your head is pillowed in the crook of my neck. I risk a glance at your face. Do you have any idea how adorable you look sleeping? Brooke-Watching is my favorite pastime and I love watching you sleep. Part of me wants to keep you like this forever. The other part of me wants to shake you awake just so you will look at me and I can see those eyes again. The latter part wins; we have to go to school.

Between classes, I see you sneak off with Felix to a supply closet. I don't know _what_ you see in him. Besides the obvious. But I don't tell you what I really think about the two of you. No, I keep my opinions to myself, mostly. I believe you're making a mistake with him, but it's yours to make. But, gee, who will you come to when it all falls apart? Reliable, dependable, Peyton, that's who. Because I'm always here to pick up the pieces. I'm just the shoulder to cry on, the attentive ear to complain to, the comforting hand to hold. I'm the one you come to when you need something, not when you want something.

But I know want I want. I've always known. Nathan was just an experiment. And I hate to say it, but so was Jake. Contributing factors to test my theory. Process of elimination, if you will. I mean, why do you think I spend so much time with Anna? I'm trying to make you jealous, and only half succeeding. I see the way she looks at me. It's how I look at you when nobody's watching. I've been there, I've done that, and deja vu is not what it used to be.

This is what I'm thinking when Anna is at my house, sad because she thinks something's wrong with her. This is what I'm thinking when Anna is on my bed, close to tears and in my arms. This is what I think when I sit back a push some hair out of her face. And you are all I can think about when Anna's lips are pressed to mine. I'm wondering if yours would be waxy from that lipstick you wear. I'm wondering if your hands would cup my face instead of staying hesitantly on the bed. I'm wondering if I could smell your flowery perfume instead of the fruity stuff Anna wears. I'm not thinking about how much Anna cares about me, and I know she does. I'm thinking about how much I care about you, and I do. Anna _is_ great. She _is_ all the things I said she was, but she's not you. And that's what I want.

And I know this, so I pull away. I must look dumbfounded or confused or surprised because I'm all of the above.

"Oh, my god!" Anna breathes, standing quickly.

"Anna, that not really my thing," I say just as quickly. Not sure why I'm lying.

"I'm sorry." And she's turning to leave. "I'm-I gotta go."

"But, it-it's _cool_, Anna!" But she's gone.

I should have told her before. Then things wouldn't be so incredibly awkward. I wouldn't be at her door, in her room, begging her to be who she is. See, because that way, I can at least live vicariously through her. But no, she doesn't even think she can still be friends with me. I know that feeling. I question breifly whether I'm ever going to get to speak to her again.

I go home. I think about calling you and decide against it. If I didn't run into you at Anna and Felix's house then you're probably out with him doing I-know-what. Because you're not here. No, not when I need you. But that's for the best because then I'd have to explain why I need you, and I'm not going there again. I crawl into bed and see if I can still smell you on the sheets. My eyes drift to a drawing on the wall before they close. Truer words. People always leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Warnings: Again, there's spoilerishness

A/N: Sorry if this sucks complete ass, I punched it out at like 3:00 in the morning when I was bored. Please review. Do I need to beg? Cuz I totally will. Please review! Please, pretty please with whipped cream and cherries and really hot sex on top?

* * *

Ah, the tangled webs I weave. I haven't spoken to Anna since she kissed me. And she's gone back to boarding school, and didn't say goodbye. Jake's taken off for parts unknown in search of Jenny, and I can't blame him. He wanted me to go with him. I almost did, got in the car, bags packed and everything. We'd passed a sign on the road, "Now Leaving Tree Hill," and I screamed so loud for him to turn back, I scared the both of us. It''s not that I don't care about him, because I do. But I don't love him like he wants me to. I wanted to. I've tried, I've tried so hard. But no matter how you slice it, you can't get a five-course meal out of a bicycle. Or something like that... My point is that I can't force feelings that aren't there and it was wrong of me to be with him like I was when I was so in love with someone else. 

If it's possible, Lucas has gotten even broodier, patent pending on that word by the way. He's sulky and pining and clearly got a case of love-sickness. Three guesses who the lucky girl is. Competition is so not what I need right now. Not that I was ever in the running. But I can pretend, can't I? Now I'm gonna be stuck with serious thoughts all day. There's a thing at Tric tonight, but I'm not sure how much fun I'll be having, what with the working and all. Part of me wants to run into Rick again. But the other part of me won't admit why. Then both parts kick me in the ass for carrying on conversations with myself.

I think I might check out the after party at the beach house tonight. You'll probably drag me there anyway. You're not much for party hopping alone. I do worry about you though. The alcohol binges are obviously not healthy. I know I'm not one to judge considering you called me a crack whore and you were just about right, but I do worry. You're a different person when you're drunk. You're several different persons when you're drunk. There's Bitchy and Spiteful Brooke. She's the one who can't keep secrets, her's or anyone else's. There's Needy, Sometimes Depressed Brooke. She's the one who needs attention in the form of sweet friendly comfort or hot reckless sex. I've yet to provide either. And then there's Deliriously Happy Brooke, she comes out most often. She's the one who's all dimples and sparkling eyes and is always happy to see me. Or Nathan. Or Lucas, Haley, even that one guy who used to eat paste in second grade. Bitchy and Spiteful Brooke and Needy, Sometimes Depressed Brooke almost always go home with some guy. Deliriously Happy Brooke is the girl who always comes home with me. Not sure who I'm rooting for tonight.

I get to walk into the party with the most beautiful girl in school on my arm. You in a short dark purple dress, and me in tight jeans and a halter; "We're young, we're hot, let's do some damage." And you make a bee-line for the kegs. Half an hour later finds us on the beach. Thirty minutes and we're already hopelessly wasted. We had been contemplating the meaning of creation when you suddenly go silent. I turn to face you and wait for one of the three Brookes to talk.

"They're getting a divorce."

"What?" I'm not sure I heard correctly through the buzzing in my ears. "Your parents?"

"Yeah. They've been having problems for a while. Now that the money's gone, my mom doesn't have a reason to stick around. Guess I don't count."

I reach over to pull you into a hug. I miss, but you crawl into my arms anyway. I try to ignore how good your hair smells when I tell you everything will be okay. You won't cry though. That's a new thing you're trying. I'm surprised because this is what I imagine Needy, Sometimes Depressed Brooke would do. But no tears come. You're just nuzzling my neck and whispering things I can't hear because my heart is pounding so hard. I want to push you away because of what this is doing to me. And I want to hold you closer because of what this is doing to me. When you speak, your lips are so close they brush my skin as they move. I'm suddenly feeling very sober. And suddenly feeling very talkative. I open my mouth to speak, but you beat me to it.

"Let's go back inside, Blondie. All this ocean is making me seasick." You stand before I can even answer and my body feels cold without yours against it. It takes me a few tries but I stand up again. You wait patiently as I struggle, you always held your liquor better than I did.

You find us an empty room and collapse on the bed. I actually hesitate at joining you, but I do. I'm wondering what we're doing here, we don't usually crash at Nathan's unless we're too passed out to decide otherwise. I'm about to mention this when you say to no one in particular that you're horny. I'm not sure what to say to that and I can feel my ears burning which means I must be blushing, hard.

You roll over and face me, then you actually look me up and down, sizing me up. I somehow manage to get even redder. You lean over and brush my lips with yours so lightly I barely feel it. But, oh, I feel it. And I'm intoxicated again, but this time it isn't the beer. You pull away and I try to speak something of a protest. You're drunk or I'm drunk or We shouldn't, we can't, but whatever I try to say doesn't come out English. And it's so hard to speak when your lips are pressed against mine. This kiss is harder. More intense. It's desperate and rough and frustrating and feels unbelievably good. And I know I never want to kiss anybody else. But no, this is wrong. I'm taking advantage. And the little angel on my shoulder is beating me with its harp.

"Brooke, no," I say into your lips.

"We can't, we shouldn't, it's wrong, blah-blah-blah," you mumble back. Somehow I find the strength to pull away. "Peyton, come on. I know you want me. I've seen you looking at me. I've seen _how_ you look."

"Brooke, I--"

"No, no. No more words. No more questions. Nothing but this." And your lips are on mine again. They do taste like strawberries. And they're not the only part of you that's sweet.

Come morning, my arm moves across the pillow to find you, then my eyes open to confirm what I already know: you're gone. And I'm all alone and very naked. Part of me is actually suprised but most of me isn't.

I make my way home and try to keep from crying. I grab my pad, and a charcoal pencil, and I curl up on my bed. I should be doing my homework. But I'm not up for algebra right now. Jimmy Eat World is playing behind me and I want to draw that old bridge I saw the other day. It was broken and forgotten and lonely and it reminded me a lot of me. But as the pencil glides over the paper, the arc of the bridge becomes the curve of a face. Instead of an overpass, I'm drawing you. Your eyes, your hands, your everything. I look at the drawing for a while when I'm done and try to decide who looks sadder, me or you.

It's been four days. And you've been avoiding me, I think. Or at least we haven't spoken. At all. I keep myself busy with whatever I can so I don't have to think about you. It's been working, I think. I've called Rick twice and hung up before it could ring. I've thought about calling you, but I know better from experience. I can't help but think you're mad at me. That I've messed up somehow. And I'm sure I have. And I don't understand why or how because from what I remember it was you who had done all the persuading. I had tried to stop you, so if anyone should be avoiding anyone it should be me. I just wish you would talk to me. I don't need to rehash how lonely I am without you, but I am.

I see you at school today. I wave to you, but you don't see me. You're not at my locker before class. And that's weird because we've met at my locker before class everyday since fifth grade. You spend all of fourth period actually paying attention. You don't try to whisper through the lectures. You don't pass me a note with the worksheets. And you don't so much as glance my way. You don't even find me at lunch, I have to spend it with Nathan and Haley. Now, I know something's wrong. I mean, some awkwardness was expected, it was inevitable, but I really didn't think it would get tis bad. I call you when I get home, leave a message on your answering machine. You finally answer your cell after three tries.

"Hey, it's me." Not the most origional, I'll admit. "What are you doing?"

"Peyton. Uh, I'm kinda busy..."

"Okay, you maybe wanna get together later? To talk?" I add quickly.

"I don't know, I'm kinda in the middle of some stuff."

"Alright, then do you--"

"Look, P. Sawyer, can I just call you later? I can't really talk right now."

"Yeah, sure." I hang up without waiting for a reply. Then I throw the phone on the floor. Then I pick it back up and wait for it to ring. How long is later?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: As always, I'm a review whore and I need some lovin'. Sorry if there are spelling errors and whatnot, I wrote this up at four in the morning again, that seems to be when I do my best writing apparently, and I'm too tired to proofread, so deal. I'm hungry for feedback, so please feed me, it makes me update faster.

Disclaimer: Random lines from BtVS, Smallville, and American Pie 2 scattered about. Bonus points if you can guess which ones.

* * *

Lying on my bed, I drawing patterns on the bedspread absently with my forefinger. Ihave to keep blinking because I'm starting to see your face in the whorles of thread. Maybe if I keep tracing the blanket, I'll remember what your skin felt like under my fingertips. It pisses me off to no end that I wasn't sober enough to remember everything that happened that night. I remember little things, here and there, but it's kind of hazy. A lot of it's come back to me, but I want to remember every second. And I can't even talk to anybody about it. Lucas or Nathan or even Jake would be far too aroused to offer any useful advice, or coherent words for that matter. Karen would probably go all judgemental-mom on me. Haley is an option, but I'm scared to tell anyone because I'm worried that if I try I'll just scream every detail of your bare body against mine. And we can't have that now can we?

I have no idea what you're thinking about all this. Seeing as it's the weekend I don't even get to see you at school. I thought about calling again, but I think eighteen messages in two hours might be bordderline stalker-esque. Plus I don't want to come off too needy. Even though I am. A little attention isn't really too much to ask is it? I mean, you don't just sleep with a person you've known forever and see on a daily basis, and then never call them again. Well, maybe _you_ do, but I'm not that nerd from sixth grade who left for the summer and came back hot; I'm your best friend. That should afford some exceptions to your "Get Some and Get Gone" policy, don't you think? I can feel my eyes welling up again as I mull this over for the millionth time tonight.

And then there came a rapping, a rapping at my chamber door. "Knock, knock," you say, as if the act of knocking won't sufice.

I roll over and sit up. I look at the floor, my bed, my hands. Mostly my hands. Anywhere but you.

"I know I said I was gonna call, but I was in the neighborhood so..." You look about as awkward as I feel.

The silence weighs more than I do and it suddenly feels colder in here.

"Look I was never one for ignoring two-ton elephants, so--"

"How am I a two-ton elephant?" I'm not sure if you're serious or if you're joking to lighten the mood. I opt for the latter.

"Brooke, you've been avoiding me, and I don't get why. Well, I mean, I have a pretty good idea--"

"I'm not avoiding you, I'm kind of avoiding everything. I have a lot going on right now. Both my parents are home and that's about as much fun as a high-colonic inTijuana, so I haven't really had time to deal with...stuff."

"Don't you think we should talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"We slept together, Brooke!" And I'm up from the bed, all flailing hands and tight, squeaky voice.

"Yeah, I know, I was there. I just don't see a whole Oprah disscussion coming from it. It wasn't a big deal."

"How can you say that it wasn't a big deal?" This is what a knife in the heart must feel like.

"Look, Peyton, we were drunk. I was horny...you were just helping me out. It's not like it meant anything." And it's like you keep twisting the handle, because I know you're serious.

At this point I'm trying so hard not to cry, I don't have the energy to respond. Not that I could, mind you. The lump in my throat is restricting my oxygen intake, so forming words is unfathomable to me right now. My brain can't compute the fact that you're actually doing this to me. I can't believe that you would hurt me like this. But it's not you're fault, you don't know that you're breaking my heart. How can you if I haven't told you?

I must have sat down at some point because I'm back on the bed. You're next to me going on about how we should've known better, that maybe it was a mistake. We shouldn't have messed with our friendship like that. All I hear is mistake and friendship playing over and over in my head like a broken record. I clamp my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut so I can try and pretend that you aren't actually saying these words to me, but I only manage to free some tears and give myself a headache. You notice this and ask what I'm doing, why I'm crying. I can't answer because I don't want you to know now. You put a hand on my shoulder and ask again.

"God, don't you get it!" I scream. You jump back three feet.

"Get what? Peyton, what is _wrong_ with you?"

"What's wrong with me! What's wrong with you, Brooke! We've been best friends for how long? One night you're horny and you just decide to use me to get off. You don't even consider what that would do to me or us for that matter. All you cared about was yourself, I knew you could be self-involved but I had no idea your were that selfish. Did you even think about how it would make me feel?"

"Pretty damn good, apparently, I didn't get any complaints. So don't start with me, you and I both know you wanted it," you seethe through your teeth.

"You are unbelievable! I'm not just one of your fuck-buddies you can whore around with whenever--" you slapped me. You slap me so hard I bit my tongue. Then you paled and apologized, again and again.

"Get out," I say this more to the floor than to you.

"Peyton--"

"Go!" I'm shaking really hard and not even trying to stop the tears anymore. You leave without another word and I'm bawling like I did when Dad told me Mom died.

About an hour later I'm all cried out. I'm watching the clock, counting each second as the minute pass. I can't believe how bad we've fucked us up. I never should have let you get so far, but you were right. I wanted it. I wanted you. I wanted you so bad, I could could taste you. And I wanted so badly _to _taste you. I should have known better. I've seen how you treat the guys you hook up with, what made me think I was any different? I used to wonder what all those uys had that I didn't, why you always went to them instead of me. They didn't care about you like I did. They didn't want to love you like I do. They never wanted to make love to you, they just wanted to srew you senseless. And I never understood why you let them.

But I think I get it now. It wasn't about love or commitment with them. It was about feeling raw and passionate and uninhibited. It was about feeling. That's why you let them have their way with you. That's why you probably let them make it hurt. Because even if you're feeling pain, at least you're feeling something. I don't feel anything right now, all I feel is numb.

When the phone rings at 12:58 I almost don't hear it even though it's less than a foot from my head. I'm content to let it ring untill I remember that the tape is full so the answering machine won't pick up and the phone will just ring...

I grab the reciever, push talk, and put it up to my ear. I don't bother to say hello.

There's just sobbing on the other line and I bolt upright because I know these cries.

"Brooke?" I say.

Your response is whining through tears and all I can make out is, "Peyton...I need you."

I'm already up and stepping into my sneakers. More sniffling and crying and I tell you I'm on my way before hanging up. I grab my car keys and I'm out the door in all of seven seconds. You've bitched at me and smacked me in the face and yet I'm still at your beck and call at one o'clock in the morning. Hell, you could probably shoot me in the chest but I'd leave the hospital and come running; in a paper gown with the I.V.line still in my arm. I'm actually picturing this as I speed the last three miles to your house.

I park in the driveway and barely turn off the engine before jumping out of the car. Then I unbuckle my seatbelt and try again. I don't knock, I just step through the door. I call your name a few times and wonder briefly if your parents are home, but decide against it. I hear you crying in the dining room.

I stop in my tracks when I find you. The dining room is a mess. There are broken dishes, glasses, silverware on the floor. As well as what looks like dinner. There's what appears to be wine spilled all over the place and the table cloth is in dissaray and actually looks burnt where the candles tipped over. Even one over the bulbs in the chandelier is broken. You're huddled in the corner between the china cabinet and the wall, your face covered in tears, and your bare feet and hands covered in blood, pressumably from walking across the glass.

I rush over to you and the broken dishware crackles under my feet. I kneel down in front of you and you jump as soon as I touch you. That's when I get a good look at the gash on the side of your forehead. The blood from the cut is all over one cheek and matted in your hair and realize that must be where the blood on your hands come from.

"Oh, Brooke..." you're shaking so badly and hurting so much, I have to will myself not to cry.

"I fell," you mumble weakly. I slip an arm around your waist and try to get you to stand. But your feet touch the floor and you wince and fall back into my arms. Right, the glass.

I take your arms and wrap them around my neck, grabbing your waist with one arm and your legs with the other, I pick you up and head towards the stairs.

"Peyton," you breathe into my neck as I carry you to the bathroom.

I set you down gently on the toilet seat and start the shower. You're muttering explanaitions and exscuses but I can't hear most of them because you can barely whisper. I hush you and help you out of your clothes, assuring you that you can tell me in the morning. After we've cleaned you up and bandaged the cut, I help you to your bedroom and into some pajamas. Your still shaking, but at least you've stopped crying.

"Where are you going?" you ask worriedly after I tuck you in and head for the door.

"I was going to clean up downstairs."

"Don't. Can you stay with me?" You don't ask this, you beg. So pleading, it breaks my heart a little more.

"Of course." I climb in next to you, and no sooner am I under the covers than you're settling against me. Arms around my waist and your head pillowed under mine. You're holding me so tight it almost hurts. I don't know whether to smile or cry. I've never seen you like this, it scares me a little. But I like that I get to take care of you.

"I'm so sorry, Peyton," you say into my collarbone.

"You've apologized, it's forgotten."

"No, not about slapping you." You clear your throat before continuing, your voice is raspy from all the crying. "I mean, I am sorry about slapping you, but I meant about the other night."

"Brooke, we can worry about everything tomorrow."

"No. Because I lied to you. When I said it didn't mean anything? I lied."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Okay,sorry, sorry, I really wanted to updaye sooner but my cousin spent the weekend with us and I could not get ANYTHING done. So here it is, long-awaited and overdue, but finally Breyton! As always, I need reviews slash comments slash constructive criticism slash feedback slash my wrists if I get none, and then where you Breytoners be?

Disclaimers: I don't own it, but you knew that... Oh, and that one line is from a work of Frost's

Previously on Dreaming:

_"I'm so sorry, Peyton," you say into my collarbone._

_"You've apologized, it's forgotten."_

_"No, not about slapping you." You clear your throat before continuing, your voice is raspy from all the crying. "I mean, I am sorry about slapping you, but I meant about the other night."_

_"Brooke, we can worry about everything tomorrow."_

_"No. Because I lied to you. When I said it didn't mean anything? I lied."_

After untagling myself from you, I sit up so I can look you in the face and tell if you mean what you say. "So what then, it did mean something?"

"Of course it did, it meant a lot. And I'm not sorry it happened, I'm just sorry it happened the way it did. I was wrong to take advantage of you the way I did, and I did take advantage because I knew exactly how you felt and I screwed with you anyway, no pun intended, and I knew exactly what I was doing and what it would do to us and I just didn't care because I wanted you so bad, but I never should have--"

"Brooke, stop, stop. Breathe. You're babbling and I only understood about half of that." You take a deep breath and even in the dark I can see tears in your eyes.

"The point I'm trying to make is that it's not something I've just forgotten about. Because I think about it. I think about you. And I think about doing it again. But mostly I think about us, you and me together, and how much I want that."

"Oh, Brooke--"

"But there's a but." Now the tears are falling freely. And here comes the worry. "I want for us to be together but I don't think I can do it. I can't."

"I don't understand. Why not?"

"Because of a lot of reasons. Because of my parents. Because of our friends. God, can you just imagine what people are going to say?"

"Brooke, I thought you didn't care about what other people said about you."

"So did I."

"You're gonna have to help out the clueless blonde here because I don't get it. Why is this different?"

"I just told you, Peyton."

"No, those weren't reasons, they were just excuses and weak ones at that. Why can't we be together?"

"Because I can't lose you!" Now we're both crying and I'm just trying to understand. "I have never had a successful relationship. That and your friendship are the only constants in my life. I don't even know if I can have a successful relationship. Every time I'm with someone and I think that it might actually work and it might actually be something real, it all just goes to hell and I get screwed over. I'm tired of being hurt and I'm tired of hurting people. That's the last thing I want for either of us. I've had enough hurt this year to last me three lifetimes and I don't want to be that girl again. I won't."

"What makes you think we wouldn't work?" You look at me like I've asked a stupid question.

"What makes you think we would?"

"Because we're best frineds. Because of everything we've been through; the good, the bad, and the incredibly ugly. Because we've overcome all of it and been the better for it. That and I love you."

"Oh, god, Peyton, don't tell me that." You press your palms to your ears to try and unhear what I said.

"Why? Brooke, I love you."

"Please stop saying it! You don't, you can't."

"I can and I do. Brooke, please calm down. I don't want to pressure you or push you into anything you're not comfortable with, but--"

"I'm not comfortable with _this_!" You yell, hands still firmly clamped over your ears.

"I'm sorry, but that's how I feel and I'm not going to pretend I don't anymore. Brooke..." I try to pull your hands down but you startle as soon as I touch you.

"You know what, just don't touch me okay?" you say standing, up and away from me. "I'm going to stand over here, you stay there so I can think, alright? Okay." You start pacing, which isn't a good thing. "Look I don't need all of this right now. I don't need it ever. I can't just--I can't. I don't need another messed up doomed relationship just so I can count the days till it all falls apart and see if it lasted any longer than the last one."

"What are you telling me then, you just want to be friends?"

"No...yes--I don't know." You're still pacing and I reach out to stop you because it's all making me dizzy. Your body tenses as soon as we come in contact. I hate what this is doing to you. When you next speak, you're so tired and weary-weak that I hate myself for doing this to you. "I don't want to feel like this anymore, Peyton."

"What do you want, Brooke?" I ask quietly, my hands still on your hips.

"A time machine to go back to last year?"

"I'll check eBay for you, but if they're sold out?"

You just sigh and collapse into my lap, arms tight around my neck, and it's oh, so good to have you this close again. You sigh into my hair and reposition yourself so we're as close as possible. I just hold you as close as I can and wait for you to say something. You make me wait a while. Eventually you just sigh again before asking me why everything has to be so complicated, why we can't just stay like this forever.

"Because, love, nothing gold can stay."

"But why do you want so badly to define us? Isn't it enough that you're the most important person in my life? Isn't it enough that I can't be without you and I need you more than anything?"

"No." You sit back and look me incredulously in the eye, obviously that wasn't the answer you were looking for. "Brooke, I know all that already. And I know what that means. Being your best friend means the world to me, but I don't know how much longer I can settle for that. I want to be all those things, but I want more."

There's that worried look again. "How much more?"

"All of it. I want to be able to hold your hand or hug you or kiss you when I want to. I want to make love to you and not have to be drunk to do it. I want to scream 'I love Brooke Penelope Davis' at the top of my lungs. I want the world to know how I feel about you because you are my world. And I want to be yours. I don't want just half of you."

"So we can't just be friends?"

"Brooke, is that even what you want?" You're a long time answering.

"No, but--"

"No, no. No buts, no doubts," I say, unconsciously repeating your phrase from days ago.

"But, Peyton, I'm scared."

"So am I. But not being with you scares me more. I know that this is hard for you, it's hard for me too, and I know you're scared, but nothing worth having is ever easy. And I know it's a big risk, but if we don't take it, we'd be missing out on something that could be really amazing. I don't want to regret this or resent you for the rest of my life. Love like this only happens once in your life and we would be beyond stupid to ignore it. So please, Brooke. Please, just open your eyes and see what we could be."

After I finish my little speech, you're having trouble making eye contact. It looks like your just having trouble breathing. I bring a gentle hand to yourcheek to get your attention back. You look at me with wet hazel eyes, almost brown with almost every emotion, and it'a all I can do not to ge lost in them.

"Just say yes, okay? Because I promise you, Brooke, give me your heart and I'll keep it safe. I love you and I'm not asking you to say it back, I'm just asking you to say yes. Yes to me. Yes to us. Yes, that you'll at least give us a try."

Then I hear it, almost inaudible because it's barely a whisper, but I hear it loud and clear. "Yes."

I pull you back into a hug and I imagine Heaven must be something like this.

"But seriously though, Peyton, no more Oprah for you."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Yet another author's note cuz I know you love them. Okay, so as promised, this update is longer, but I have two VERY IMPORTANT things to mention. Numero uno, changing the time frame to fit the story. I know at this point in the show, or where it would be should these events take place, that basketball season is over, but I need the season cuz I need the cheerleaders (not for anything dirty, you pervy pervy people!). So if you notice the change while reading, it's not a mistake, just an adjustment. Second, I'm going to be starting school again in like two weeks and I still haven't done ANY of my summer reading. Wondering why the hell you would care? Well, that means I won't be able to update as often, especially after school starts. But, knowing me I'll blow off my homework, as is my habit, and do the fics instead. So, yeah, pretty much it. Oh! Since you're finally getting some breyton, I hope for more reviews PLEASE.

Disclaimers: I own nothing you recognize. I'm sixteen I have no money, don't sue.

Additional author's note: Brooke and Peyton will be... how do I put this tactfully? They're gonna screw again. So, I'm wondering if you'd want a delicate and subtle allusion to passionate love making, or full-on, no holds barred, hot steamy sex. Let me know or I'l take the easy way out and leave it to your imagination.

* * *

Tangled up under the covers is where the next day finds us. Lying on my back, with you half on top of me, my arm has fallen asleep. I try to pry it out from under you, but you bolt awake almost as soon as I move. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you glance back down at me before smiling. Then you just lie down heavily on top of me.

"Ow... You're supposed to warn me before you do that."

"Sucks for you then," you mumble tiredly. "As my girlfriend, you're fully obligated to be my pillow when I sit fit. Those are just the rules."

"Your girlfriend, am I? Well then, as _my _girlfriend, _you_ are fully obligated to get the hell off me when I have to pee." I swat your butt to get you moving. You just smirk and raise a questioning eyebrow, eyes still closed.

"Aw, come on now, P. Sawyer, you should know that that just turns me on..." I groan and push you off me. Climbing out of your bed, I drag myself to your bathroom, muttering nympho and perv on the way.

"Hey Brooke?" I call from the sink.

"Hay is for horses, Blondie!" Stepping out of my clothes, I ask if you mind my taking a quick shower.

"That depends, can I watch?" you call back from the bedroom. I tell you maybe later, as I step under the spray. I bathe quickly, going over last night in my head again and again, smiling the whole time. You're gone from the room when I'm finished, so I borrow a t-shirt and put my jeans and sneakers back on, and make my way down stairs.

I find you cleaning up the mess in the dining room and remember what else happened last night. From my position in the doorway, I can see your face and the welt under your eye as well as bruises on your neck that weren't there yesterday. God, Brooke, what the hell happened last night? You finally see me standing here, and you see me staring.

"It's not as bad as it looks." I walk over to you and reach a hand out to your face, but you pull away quickly. "Don't, it's still sore."

"Brooke, do you wanna tell me what happenend last night?"

"Not really," you sigh.

"Will you anyway?" You drop the trash bag you were holding on the floor and go to the living room. After a moment I follow, you look at me for a second when I join you on the sofa. You don't say anything for a minute. "Please, Brooke?"

"We were eating dinner, my mom, dad and me." You sigh again and shake your head before continuing. "So Mom decides that's the perfect opportunity to tell my dad about all the other men she'd been seeing the last couple years. They'd managed to go three days without fighting, as soon as we sat down, like a family, for _once_, she had to open her big mouth and ruin it." You look back up at me.

"I've never seen my dad so angry, Peyton." I know your dad is a man of few words. He'd sooner ignore or throw cash at a problem at home rather than take the time to solve it, so it's hard to get my head around your dad being anything but stoic. Especially when you say what you do next.

"He started yelling at her, like screaming. He was banging the table so hard, I thought he would break it. He called her a tramp and a whore and a slut and said it was no wonder I turned out the way I did." Your eyes start welling again. " He's never said anything like that to me before."

"He just kept getting madder and madder, going on about all he's done for us and how we just screwed him over. Then my mom starts yelling back, and pretty soon they're throwing things at each other, and I'm just trying to stay out of the way. She got in his face, I mean she was yelling right at him, and he just smacked her out of nowhere. Really hard. He just kept hitting her, Peyton. And then the next thing I know, I'm in between them trying to keep them from killing each other."

I take your hands in mine to try and stop them from shaking. Your crying again, and I have half the mind to stop you here so you can calm down. But you're not even talking to me, you're just talking.

"He grabbed my throat and just threw me out of the way. My head hit the corner of the cabinet and then the floor, I think I must have blacked out because I woke up and it was dark and they were both gone. I don't even know what happened after, but I think they just left. Both their cars are gone. Most of their stuff is gone. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know who else to call..."

"Oh my god, Brooke. Come here." I pull you into my lap again and let you cry until there are no more tears left. Stroking your hair, I hush you and tell you it'll all be okay and how sorry I am. I try not to let myself get mad, but I'm fuming, unbelievably angry at your parents for just leaving you like that. You could've had a concussion, you could've died. Maybe.

After you quiteted, you sit up quickly and make a move for the liquor caddy, anouncing that you need a drink.

"Brooke, it's ten o'clock in the morning."

"I don't care..." you say. You uncork the scotch and bring the whole decanter to your lips, swallowing quickly.

"Brooke!" I jump up quickly to grab the bottle, but you turn and finish it all before I can. Sputtering and coughing, you set the empty thing down before reaching for another. I step between you and the trolly and take a hold of both your wrists. "What the hell are you doing!"

You pull your hands from mine and tell me to stop. I tell _you_ to stop, and pull you away from the alcohol. With a firm grasp on your hand, I pull you out of the house. An easy task considering how quickly you're becoming intoxicated. I put you in the passenger's seat of my car and walk around to the driver's side. When I try the door however, it's locked. I look through the window, wondering why and when I had put the top back up, and tell you to unlock the door. You slide over slowly towards me, but then look back to the floor on the passenger's side at something shiny.

My hand goes to my pocket as I watch you pick the car keys up from the floor. I tell you again, to open the door. You just shake your head and laugh. Frustrated and a little pissed off, I walk around the car to the passenger's side. When I get there, your hand is on top off the lock, pushing it a split second before a reach the handle. I bang on the window, tired of this and more than a little pissed off. You find this hilarious and have managed to produce a flask from nowhere, so you're laughing hysterically and trying to drink at the same time.

"Dammit, Brooke, open this door right now, or I'm gonna kisk your ass!" Then I hit the window so hard it cracks. This just spurs you on and you laugh even harder if it's possible. I try to calm down, hoping you respond that way. "Brooke, please, please open the door?"

"Say pretty please!" you demand through the glass.

"Pretty please..."

"Pretty please with whip cream--" you hiccup a couple of times before continuing. "With whip cream and cherries and really hot sex on top?"

I roll my eyes, "Brooke--"

"Say it!"

"Prettypleasewithwhippedcreamandcherriesandreallyhotsexontop," I say as fast as I can. "Okay? Now open the door."

You reach over and pull up the lock. I open the door quickly before you change your mind. I have to reach over you to open the driver's side, but not without you reminding me that you like it better when you're on top. I get in the car and bring you back to my house and you sing all the way there. You're passed out not five seconds in to the living room. You wake up two Law and Order's and four Friends' later.

"Ok, ow..." you say after trying to sit up. You bring a hand to your temple too quickly and hit the bandage on your forehead. "Ow!"

"Careful, now." I hand you the glass of water and aspirin I've had waiting. "Here."

You take them gratefully and mumble that I'm good to you. This is true. I get up and go to the kitchen and start pulling stuff out of the fridge. You drag yourself in after me, slowly. I ask what you want.

"Ew, none of that. No offense, but some of this looks older than me." I look at what I've set out, and you're right. I pick up the waste bucket and sweep it all into the trash. I look back up at you for a suggestion.

"Karen's?"

"Yeah, just lemme change." You hop of the counter where you were sitting and follow me upstairs.

"You got anything remotely hot can borrow, cuz I look gross?" I tell you yes, even though I think you'd look hot in a paper bag.

It's rather warm, so we put the top back down. On our way over, you prop your feet on the dashboard and sing along to the radio. I look over at you, belting The Sundays at the top of your lungs and think that no one has even been more beautiful.

Childhood living is easy to do  
The things you wanted I bought them for you  
Graceless lady, you know who I am,  
You know I can't let you slide through my hands

Wild Horses,  
Couldn't drag me away,  
Wild, wild horses,  
Couldn't drag me away...

I watched you suffer a dull, aching pain  
Now you decided to show me the same  
No sweeping exits or offstage lines,  
Can make me feel bitter or treat you unkind

Wild Horses,  
Couldn't drag me away,Wild, wild horses,  
Couldn't drag me away...

I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie,  
I have my freedom but I don't have much time  
Faith has been broken tears must be cried,  
Let's do some living after we die

Wild Horses,  
Couldn't drag me away,  
Wild, wild horses,  
We'll ride them someday

Wild Horses,  
Couldn't drag me away,  
Wild, wild horses,  
We'll ride them someday

We bring our food back to my house and eat in the kitchen, Karen was asking to many questions about the bandage on your forhead. We're side by side at the table, with you playing footsies with my bare feet. You're laughing about nothing, which is fine by me. Anything to make you happy after last night. I'm rather content with my burger, when something hot and kind of sharp hits me square in the jaw. I look down at the offending object. And then back at you.

"You did _not_ just throw a french fry at me." You laugh and point at my cheek. I wipe away at my cheek. "Ew, Brooke, it had ketchup on it!"

You lean over, close, so you're only centimeters from my face. And it suddenly occurs to me that we haven't kissed yet, without being drunk or spurred on by a dare anyway. You're so close I can feel you breathing. But you don't kiss me. Instead, your tongue slips out for a split second and laps at my jaw. Then you just slide out of your chair, throw out your trash, and make your way to the living room. God, I had no idea ketchup could be so erotic.

You've made yourself at home on the couch, clicking through the TV channels. "Aren't there any good movies on on Sunday afternoon?"

"Nope." I pick up my sketchbook from the coffee table and open it to an empty page and find a pen. I settle against the back of the couch and you immediately spread out and lay your legs across my lap, sighing dramatically. "Comfortable?"

"Very,"you say smiling. I can't help but smile too. After two minutes you sigh again. "Peyton, I'm bored."

"Well, I'm sorry for you," I stay focused on my drawing.

"Come on, Goldielocks, entertain me!"

I roll my eyes and snatch the remote. I open the Pay-Per-View menu. I tell you to pick a movie and go back to my drawing.

"What ever I want?"

"Sure, babe." I miss the devious smirk as I'm engrossed in my sketch. I quickly regret my words when I hear a cocophony of moaning. "No porn!"

"You said whatever I wanted!"

"What am I supposed to tell my dad when he sees I've ordered 'Driving Ms. Daisy Crazy'!"

"Fine, fine, I'll Netflix it later... Oh! 'Cinderella Story' is on Starz!"

"No! I hate Chad Micheal Murray."

"You won't let me watch the other movie--"

"It was a porno, Brooke!"

"And now I can't even watch the chick flick? Please, Peyton, please?" You make the pouty face and I'm powerless to resist. I just make a crack about your crushing on Hilary Duff. "Well, I guess I just have a thing for blondes."

I'm out halfway through, bored to sleep by The Chad. When you wake me, it's almost half past nine. We go to upstairs to sleep. Before cuddling up under the covers, I remind you that we have school tomorrow. And you're hugging me out of nowhere, and I could get used to this. We haven't actually talked about it, but I know without asking. So, of course I ask anyway.

"Brooke?" I say into your hair.

"Huh?"

"I know we haven't talked about it, but I figured you'd wanna stay pretty under wraps about us, and--"

"Peyton, I just can't. I'm not ready for all that."

"No, I know, and I get it, it's fine. I was just...double-checking." I move to wrap my arms tighter around your waist, and you draw yours around my neck, pressing your forehead to mine.

"Are you sure? Cuz I really just can't handle all that lesbian drama right now, or ever..."

"Is that what you want?" You nod, if not solemnly. "Then I'm sure." You meet my eyes with a look I've never seen before. You press your lips to mine and I swear I see fireworks. This kiss is soft and slow and Christmas all rolled into one. You pull me into bed and we're cuddling under the covers, you really like that. Settling into your arms, I'm still amazed at how perfectly your body fits against mine. I'm inches from sleep when I hear my name.

And you whisper the words carefully, quietly, and slowly, like you're scared they'll break. "I love you, too." When I fall asleep, I'm smiling

We're up and ready for school without a moment to spare, considering we're about twenty minutes late. We don't have any classes this quarter, which I'm still getting used to since the term ended only last week. It's no fun sitting through a lecture on the mating cycles of anthropods if I don't have you giggle with. So, doodling. You text me in third period, saying you have a English quiz to make up so you'l have to skip lunch, but you'll see me at practice. And I must be having a bad hair day, because I've been getting weird looks since the day started. I just kick back in the library to finish my strip.

Lucas finds me with a couple minutes left in the period. He sits down across from me.

"Peyton, I've been looking for you."

"What's up, Luke?" He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, like he does when he's confused or skeptical or both.

"Uh, I figured you might wanna talk, since I haven't seen you around after..."

"After? After what?"

"You really don't know?"

"Know what, Lucas?" I'm getting impatient.

"You and Brooke. Kissing?" Oh, my god. "It was on your web cam. People are talking..."

"I'm sorry, I have to go." But the bell rings before I'm out of the library, and your next class is on the other side of the school. I go to math as quickly as possible. Was Mr. Lombardo staring at me? Those freshmen were totally just pointing at me. Tim just winked at me! Did everyone know! Oh, god, do you know? You're not answering your phone. The one time you turn it off...

It's two and a half hours before the day ends and I can go to the gym to find you. I can't imagine what you must be thinking. You're probably mad and hurt and embarassed and mad again. You wouldn't skip school without telling me, right? The locker room is empty when I get there, and I really don't feel like going to practice. I wait by your locker until you get there.

"Okay, so how useless is English class? I mean, I already speak English, I don't need to learn the finer points and details, cuz hello? So, do not care that much."

"Brooke?"

"And Mrs. Alexander totally has it in for me--"

"Brooke."

"I mean, she made up a separate quiz and everything so I couldn't even use the stuff I knew before."

"Brooke!" But you're changed and off towards the door in less than sixty seconds, still talking a mile a minute.

We get to the gym and you're still talking. The rest of the squad is standing in a circle looking a little too conspiring for my taste. They all turn to face us as we enter, as well as the basketball team, and even Whitey.

"This doesn't look like stretching, ladies." You really have no idea.

Theresa and Bevin share a look before detaching from the rest and approaching us, pom-poms in hand. You raise an eyebrow, because you're thinking the same thing I am. This is not good.

Theresa does the talking and Bevin smirks accordingly.

"We've been talking, Brooke, and we feel that it'd be best if you just stepped down."

"And who's we? You and Bevin here, or you and that pimple the size of Jupiter?" I see Theresa make a visible effort not to cover the zit on her chin, but she retorts anyway.

"Me and the whole squad. We've reached a consensus and you need to resign."

"Watch the big words, Theresa, wouldn't want to choke on one," I say, shooting her a glare to rival her own.

"The only one who can resign my post is me, and since I'm not going anywhere--"

"We're fully prepared to impeach you, and as reigning co-captain I would of course take over in your absence."

"Funny how that works, huh?" I mutter. Theresa ignores me.

"Consider yourself fired, Brooke." And she crosses her arms because she knows she's won.

"What the hell for!" Theresa smiles, all too happy.

"Didn't Peyton tell you?"

"Tell me what?" And now you're nervous because you know where this is going.

"Caught your little show last night. That's, what, twice now Peyton's webcam has screwed you over?" You look at me and you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, so to speak.

"I didnt know." Too little too late. "I was trying to tell you..." I can hear Theresa, and she's shaking pom-poms, too close to your face.

"D-Y-K-E, what's that spell?" But all I see are the tears in your eyes when you run out of the gym. Theresa is actually laughing and I don't remember even thinking it, but my fist is arcing through the air, and connecting with her jaw. It hurts, pretty bad, but it's worth it when she actually falls to the floor.

"You unimaginable bitch." I glance at Bevin, who quickly throws her hands up in surrender, and at the rest of the squad. At least they have the decency to be ashamed of themselves and look away. I get to the parking lot and you're nowhere to be found. I don't need to call your cell phone to know you won't answer it. But I do anyway.

* * *

Ok...cliffhanger, I know, but I keeps you guessing. Remember, let me know about the sex thing. Major drama ahead, and I'm going to be wrapping it up pretty soon to get going on other fics, so yeah, REVIEW! 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: We all know I don't own anything, so don't ask, and don't sue.

A/N: OK, people I'm wrapping this up. This is going to be the last chapter, and I'm sorry for that and it being forever since I updated, but I've been BUSY! School's all kinds of crappy and my homework takes up too much time. I'm sorry, cuz it's really short and this isn't how I wanted to end it, but I had to end it. Let's just say it died an untimely death. Um, see the bottom of the page for additional notes. Feedback, always appreciated. So, yeah...

* * *

I think I left too many messages on your cell phone. I'm not good at the whole not-looking-needy thing, apparently. But I figure you just need your space to think about things. Trust, right? Yeah, trust, that's what I need right now. Not worry, or fear, or both times ten. I say it over and over in my head until I'm thinking it without thinking it, "Brooke loves me, she loves me." 

I decide to make myself useful. I peruse the internet in search of anything about the rules of high school cheerleading. I mean, they must have rules and regulations, they can't just kick you off the squad, its discrimination. Serching... searching... Hmm, lots of "XXX Cheerleaders" and that's not _exactly_ what I'm looking for. I'm going around in circles before I find anything worthwhile. Stupid Google... My eyes are sore and probably red and the words have gotten a little too fuzzy to read so I stop trying. Whoa, when did it get dark? Damn, it's 9:00 already and I still haven't heard from you.That's not so good.

Against my better judgement, I lie down. I don't want to sleep yet, but better in my bed than in my computer chair. I'll just rest my eyes for a second. It's been a long day. I can't believe what Theresa did, that she'd say things like that to you. Just thinking about it pisses me off again. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have since I wake up when you get here. You're stroking my hair as my eyes open. I bolt upright as soon as I see you.

"Oh god, Brooke, I'm so sorry. I swear to you, I didn't know the camera was on. I never would've--"

"Peyton," you raise your hands to quiet me. "Peyton, it's all right. I know you didn't do it on purpose." You sigh and climb on to the bed next to me and assure me that it isn't the end of the world. You settle into my arms and I'm happy because that means we're okay. But still, you're upset. You're so upset, I can feel it. I want to do something, anything to make it better.

So I do the only thing I can think of; I kiss you. And it it seems to be working. One of my hands slides down to your waist, and the otherto the back of your neck, and a hug quickly becomes a hold. You pull away suddenly and ask me all wide-eyed if I turned the web cam off. I laugh a little, tell you it is, and your lips find mine again. You run your tongue over my bottom lip, silently seeking permission to enter, permission I'm all too happy to give.

Then I'm on my back and it's so much easier to breathe with your body on top of mine than Jake's or Nathan's. Clothes melt away and it's hard to remember ever not being this. You don't try to hide or cover up. I look at you and gasp. Seeing you like this, so unabashedly naked, takes my breath away. I know you're never like this with them. And I know I've never loved anything more.

Hands roam where lips follow and just before it's over, it starts again. It's better than anything I could've dreamt. All those dreams and fantasies and realities don't come close because all those were just sex and this is so much more. Sex, I've had. But something tells me I've been saving the love making for you. I get it now. I used to think that "making love" was just a fancy synonym for sex, like coppulating. But it's not. It could never be just sex with us. Because this isn't scary, it's not difficult, it's not wrong or dirty or anything but perfect. It feels like fire, but not in a bad way. Maybe it hurts, but it hurts so good.

I had no idea you could be this vocal, I had no idea _I_ could be this vocal. I guess that's the difference, among other things. We're a mass of sweaty limbs and flushed skin when we're done and I can't tell where I end and you begin. I roll over and try to find my voice; it's kind of raspy from the screaming. Tears are rolling down your cheeks and you cover your face as soon as I see you.

"Was it that good?" I pull your hands from your face and wipe the tears from your eyes. "Was it that bad?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," you sniffle, wipe your face, and sit up. "Peyton, I'm sorry. No, that was amazing, I was just thinking about Theresa."

"Well, whatever works for you," I joke.

"No! God, no. Just, what happened today. I'm PMSing or something, I keep getting emotional. I shouldn't have just left you like that."

"It's okay..."

"She was just being such a bitch and that's exactly what I didn't want to happen, and I knew it would be like that if people found out and I just got so scared 'cause people had been looking at me funny all day and it was like I knew what they were talking about, but I didn't want to hear it--"

"Slow down, Brooke, you're babbling." And I don't like where this is going. I'm finding something to put on and hand you something to wear too. But I know I'm just biding my time so you don't start talking again.

"I knew it was gonna be like this, Peyton, this town is just too small for it not to be. This what I was afraid of, and I feel like it's only gonna get worse. I don't know... I just--"

"What are you saying?" Now I _really _don't like where this is going. And there are tears springing to my eyes and yours.

"I don't know if we should keep doing this..."

"Doing what, Brooke!" You flinch because I'm yelling.

"Please, don't get upset."

"Don't get upset! How can I not be upset?" I push you away from me and get off the bed, pacing and trying not to scream or cry or both.

"I'm just trying to be honest with you, Peyton."

"No, you're not, this isn't what you want. Breaking up with me isn't what you want," I sit down in the chair acroos from you and try to will my voice from cracking. "Is it?"

"No, but--" I rise from my spot on the chair and join you on the bed. I take your hand in mine and turn it over, tracing the lines on your palm.

Do you remember that time when we were eleven? And we took the bus to the boardwalk and we found that little fortune teller booth? We had our palms read and you made Madame Zorini give us our ten dollars back because she didn't tell you that you'd be famous and marry rich. But I remember what else she said, after you stormed out. About us. I never told you, though.

"It's only been four days, Brooke. You couldn't even give me a week like anyone else? Or did you just wanna screw me bfore you screwed me over?"

"God, Peyton, it's not like that," you reach my hand, but I can't let you touch me right now.

"You said you loved me," I say so quietly, I barely heard me. "Were you lying?"

"No, of course not--"

"Say it again."

"Of course not?"

"No, Brooke. Tell me you love me," I look you right in the eye and wait for you to answer. You take your time.

"I love you, you know that."

"Yeah, I thought I did, but you keep breaking my heart." You look away, at your hands, at the bed, anywhere but me.

"All right, you know what? I'm going to make this really easy for you. We're through, okay? Over. You don't wanna be with me, fine. You should've just said so in the first place," I get up and start gathering your things and you start crying, then apologizing through the tears. I don't why this makes me angry, but I through your things at you and tell you to leave.

"Can't we at least try to be--"

"Don't you _dare_ finish that sentence!"

"Peyton, I--"

"No! I don't even wanna hear it. I'm tired of your exscuses, Brooke. I'm tired of your compromises and the promises you don't keep. God, you can't keep doing this to me. You can't run me around in circles like this, you just can't. You think you can just bend me back and forth to the breaking point and expect nothing to happen. I don't know what it is with you, why you insist on hurting everyone around you. You can't see a good thing when it's right in front of you, and even when you do, you just throw it away! And for what? What could you possibly get out of being alone?"

You don't answer and I can't stop.

"Nothing, Brooke!" I sit down in front of you, lower my voice, and take your face gently in my hands so you'll look at me. "I know what you wanted, what you're looking for. I could've been that for you, I wanted to be so badly. But you're Brooke Davis, and nothing you can get is ever good enough for you. I thought I might be, but at this point I don't think anyone is."

I let go of you and sit back. You've stopped crying, you're all cold and defeated because everything I said is true and now you can see it. I can see that wall again. There's a wall up around your heart that's gotten too hard and high for me to climb. And after all these years, I'm tired of trying.

I pick up all your stuff and it's a quick hug and I quicker kiss and I tell you no one loves you like I do. But you can't even look at me, you just leave. Walking fast, breaking inside and trying to make it look like bending. People always leave. It's the one thing I've come to expect and the only thing I can count on. It's what they're good at and I know this, but it hurts just the same. The world stopped again, but it's not as fun this time. I crawl back into bad and try to ignore the fact that the sheets still smell like you. I'm not trying to sleep, it's all I can do to breathe. I watch the shadows play across the dark window and curse the sun because I know it will rise tomorrow and I won't dream tonight.

* * *

Additional author's note: Ok, don't kill me! I know, I know... You're probably yelling at the computer and cursing my name, but there's a but! I'm planning be doing a sequel that will be MUCH happier. It'll be a future fic, I'm gonna call it "Sometimes They Come Back." It'll be Breyton-centric, but with lots of twists and stuff. And hopefully, it'll be longer. I've already got ideas and plots and storylines planned out, but nothing actually written, so you gotta let me know if your interested and I'll get started.Thanks to those of you who were dilligent enough to leave feedback, as a writer I cannot tell you how much that means. Always an ego boost to know I have fans and followers. I'd like to thank each of you personally but I wouldn't make you sit through all that. Thanks again and let me know. 


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